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Bramblestone - An old yet deceptively avant-garde merchant township centered around the intersection that connects Hedgehem Road with the main throughfare of Zahir Road, Bramblestone is a village that has been largely ignored by the changing political landscape of Fastheld, though is very much at the behest of the trade that flows through it. To that end, it is a village that has been built and rebuilt several times to maintain its grasp upon the wealth that flows through its streets and crossroad. Unlike other villages that mostly feature farmland and cottages, Bramblestone is an area of townhouses of black-painted hewn-square timber framed with chestnut-hued stucco beneath angled roofs of charcoal slate. Jetties are common amongst the two- and three- story buildings, and the streets that threat through the community are mostly angular and straight, having been designed to purpose, rather than evolving with the township. It is home to the unusually upscale four-story red-brick and timber establishment known as the White Raven Inn, the sign of which featuring white raven pearched upon a closed helm of steel, presumably belonging to a Knight and currently empty. Sat upon a pivotal point within Zahir territory, Bramblestone has the good fortune of acting as a trade station for all caravans, merchants, and general travelers who pass through it on the route between Fanghill deeper towards the west, Hedgehem to the north, and the rest of the Empire via the Imperial Thoroughfare towards the east. ---------------------------------------- Time of Day: Gloaming. It is the Eighth hour by the Shadow on Riverstretch. A steady gentle breeze stirs over the land. A light rain pours from the heavens. The sky is moonless, a portent of Shadow strength. ---------------------------------------- Ashlynn has taken advantage of the ammenities before the White Raven Inn, letting Conceit have a rest and a drink at the public trough while she stares absently up at the empty, dark sky - perhaps pondering whether to press on for one more stop this evening, or to give it up for the next day. Fear. Fear is an odd thing - there's a stink to it. A sense of it that clings to those who cannot stand to stare into the dark. The smell of it is on the man who stands outside the courier service offices - Eulis Greenway. A long time manager of those that carry Fastheld's correspondance and more questionable items. Thin and aging, with a hairline that has been running away from the front of his head for years, the normally genial man honestly looks as though he's seen the Shadow in his offices. Spooked. Hands unsteady - hands that hold an aging leather wallet and a small tube. It's almost with disbelief that he stares across the square, swallowing.. and bucking up his courage. "Mistress Birch!" The call's strong enough. Ashlynn blinks and glances over, snatched from her ruminations. Between that and the thickened shadows from a moonless night and the strange, transforming effects of the dark emotion hovering about the man, it is a moment more before she straightens in surprised recognition. "Master Greenway," she greets, looping Conceit's lead rope over a hitching post before she is heading his way. "Are you well?" she asks, the greeting unconsciously solemn as she examines him. "Aye. Aye. Well.." He offers an ingratiating smile. "I never thought I would believe him, aye? But he said you'd be here, today - a commission for you, and you alone, he said." Shaking hands offer the wallet, the tube. "And five hundred imperials to boot. A thing simple enough, aye?" Ashlynn begins to frown in confusion, questions already visibly crowding toward her lips before his conclusion clears them all as her eyes widen. Slowly, she accepts the two items, staring for a moment before her gaze snaps up and she asks cautiously, "Who are these supposed to go to?" "You know her, he said..." Greenway's fishing in his own pouch for a bag; he can't do it fast enough. "Caprice Firelight, he said. Said you'd even know where to find her, like." Ashlynn's eyes narrow, suspicions already flickering across her expression before she finally heaves a resigned sigh. "I know her...barely. I think it is an exaggeration, to say I would know where to find her, but I suppose I have a better chance than most at it. Is there a time limit?" "He didn't say - " A bag is offered - a smallish one, but heavy and clinking. "You'll be wanting this, I'm sure." Ashlynn takes the bag with somewhat less enthusiasm than the contents might usually engender in a body, but after a moment, she nods with a visible acceptance of the task. "Very well. Out of curiosity, should I even bother inquiring after the requestor's identity?" she asks with a waggle of her brows - half-joking, while still hoping curiosity and personal ties might convince him to divulge what he has skirted around thus far. "You see gold armor, girl.. best a man not ask." Greenway is earnest, and looking back over his shoulder. "Bit of advice? You get rid of that quick. They knew your /name/, girl." And .. oh, yes, he's backing away, there. "Many know my name by now," Ashlynn responds quietly, but there is not even a hint of a smile about her face now. Lips thinning at his actions, she glances down once more at the items she holds - two innocuous-seeming packages and a payment large enough to count as bribe rather than honest fare - before turning to head back toward her horse. "My gratitude, Master Greenway. Hopefully I will be seeing you soon for more work, eh?" she calls over her shoulder with wry humor. "Light keep you, Mistress Birch. Light keep you." And Greenway all but /flees/ back for his office. Ashlynn tucks the items away safely into saddlebags and messenger pouches, ensuring all ties are secure before she looks once more at the moonless sky. Jaw tensing, she finally makes a decision as she tugs Conceit around and re-tightens the saddle girth. "Ha, Conceit, let's off to the next town, eh? Someplace small and quiet with no name...just for the night, and then we can do a proper search tomorrow," she murmurs with a last slap upon the mare's shoulder before pulling herself into the saddle, nudging them into a trot toward the Imperial Thoroughfare. Category:Logs